


Holding the Reins

by StuntMuppet



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M, Het, Porn, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-30
Updated: 2009-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-04 01:05:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StuntMuppet/pseuds/StuntMuppet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People can surprise you. Of course, sometimes you can surprise you too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holding the Reins

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Seventh Multi-Fandom Porn Battle](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/394717.html) on LJ; hence, shameless PWP. Prompt word was "textures".

The first time, she asks him not to undress. Well, she doesn't ask him exactly, because asking means talking and talking would interrupt a really rather excellent kiss. But when he starts to shrug off his jacket she tugs on the lapels, pulling it insistently back round his shoulders.

She doesn't explain and he doesn't ask (just smiles a little — she feels it in the curl of his lips as he kisses her deeper), but the truth is that it's odd enough getting used to the idea of shagging the Doctor when just a few years ago he was unknowable and unreal. Seeing him actually naked might be too much. She wouldn't trust herself not to giggle.

She ends up giggling anyway as he undresses her instead, careful hands against that one ticklish spot on her stomach (he lingers there too long, and by the way his eyes light up as she grins she thinks he's doing it on purpose). But as he traces his way along her breast the laughter fades to a purr.

\---

It doesn't go quite like she expects.

She doesn't expect the sudden rasp of velvet on her thighs as he pulls her up closer. She definitely doesn't expect the quiver of pleasure that follows it, the whimper it draws from her throat.

Nor does she expect the prickling of the lace on her breasts and the sweet little burn it leaves on her skin as he moves too fast against her; for all his previous calm and self-assurance he's breathing hard now, running a hand down her spine almost impatiently. Maybe right now he's not as poised and commanding as he likes to think he is (there are always moments when he isn't). Maybe right now he isn't holding the reins.

The thought sparks something inside her — heat, and pressure, and urgency, and want.

 

Her legs hook around his waist to better feel the rough touch of the fabric; her hips press into his and with every motion she teases his hard cock between her thighs. He shuts his eyes and bites his lip hard but can't quite swallow an _oh_, and she wonders if he likes it, that momentary loss of control. She rocks forward just a little and he gasps, his head leaning back. He'd never admit it, but she takes that as a yes.

She reaches, clinging to his jacket for support, and slowly kisses the arch of his neck. He murmurs his approval and so she keeps going, dipping lower, nuzzling at his collar only to find it still buttoned.

"Hold me up," she breathes. The Doctor obliges, hands cupped at the top of her legs, and she sets to work undoing the buttons on his shirt, one by one, following her hands with her mouth until she comes to rest between his collarbones, skimming the soft skin with the tip of her tongue. Amidst the heavy textures of his clothes he tastes like a reward.

Her hands continue their slow journey downward; by the time she reaches the fourth button she can feel the strain in his arms from her weight, so she moves on to his trousers quick as she can, unfastening and pushing them down just far enough. For a moment (a long moment, as two playful fingers wander and he holds on to her tighter, wanting to touch her somewhere, anywhere else) she considers making him wait. Making him ask. Making him beg, maybe, just to see how much he'll let go.

But he says her name, once, as if he thinks she's forgotten, and she remembers that making him wait would mean waiting herself.

She curls her arms tight around his shoulders and slides onto him — slowly, relishing his shudder. She keeps the slow pace at first, twisting as she moves, but he bucks sudden and hard against her. She speeds up, following his rhythm, letting him take her as fast as he wants and going faster, even, to see if he'll match her (he always does). Heat and speed and the press of his body against her clit send shocks through her skin, bringing her closer, painfully close.

It feels like ages before he comes inside her with a ragged moan, and it's that — knowing that for all those alien languages at his command he can't manage a single word — that sets her over the edge at last.


End file.
